Simon is high on pain meds and Grace has no idea what he's attempting to say.
On Eden getting high wasn't exactly a thing. Having access to the stuff that could get you high was impossible. If there was anything, you'd have to pay with your life. And in the end you’d ultimately never use it because your body must be pure to be suitable soil. So, being high on pain meds was something close to ascension. He had no idea what meds they were, but every word bouncing around his head felt real and solid, as if he'd actual somehow managed to manipulate his thoughts into physical objects.
Air squeaked from him as he sat up. Grace sat on a chair next to the bunk he lay on. “You okay?”
“What meds did you give me?”
He scratched his head. “Morphine, I think?”
Simon sighed. Morphine. What a name. Here he was, pumped with a drug he’d never encountered, covered in ugly tumours, flakes of dried blood, and sweat. But all he could think about in the moment was food. He dropped back onto the bed. “Slop,” he commanded.
“What?” Grace chuckled, shuffling closer.
Simon flailed his arms in the air. “Slooop.”
“What Simon say?” Rocky charged in, full speed at Grace, knocking off his balance.
He laughed. He hadn’t laughed in a while. This was extremely funny to a man who was getting tunnel vision. What had he even been thinking about prior? “Can I have slop?”
“Simon want liquid?”
He shook his head.
Rocky turned to Grace, who was wobbling on the spot. “What word mean?”
“I’m confused too, Rocky.” He finally regained some semblance of balance. “You need to stop doing that, hamster.”
“What word!?”
Simon laughed again. Of course an alien doesn’t know what a hamster is. He doesn’t either!
Grace managed back onto the chair again. Simon watched as he dragged his hand down his scarred body. “Grace, I really, really fucking want some—”
“Simon, I have no—and I mean zero—idea what you mean by 'slop'.”
“Slop from the bot.”
He groaned. “You want food?” His hand rested at Simon's thigh. Pray to—no one—that he gets special treatment because he’s in pain. “We need to ration. You had dinner already.” Nope. “Sorry.” The ever-apologising Ryland Grace.
“Grace not apologise. Grace, Simon need to live.”
“Yeah,” He huffed, dragging a piece of hair from Simon's clammy forehead, leaning down to give it a peck. It was highly likely he tasted of iron and salt, but Grace never seemed to care.
“Science time, question?”
Rocky chimed.
Grace smiled. “Science time.”
And as he left, Simon tried shouting for the slop one more time. But the response that earned him was the invading silence of the man sharing the ship with him focusing. There would be no slop, so off to sleep he went.
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